


Reconstruction

by selannes



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Back Together, Kinda, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Post-Break Up, injuries, the 2nd chapter is an alt ending that gets kinda dark so fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selannes/pseuds/selannes
Summary: After his injury Ryan heals up at Shea's house in Montreal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm late to the party for these two but w/e they're so great I love the dynamic  
> I made Shea a bit weird in this btw.... sorry hes kind of obsessive

 

Shea’s at home, resting his fucking aching foot, watching the Wilds-Stars game like the masochist he is. He’s nursing a glass of whisky because there’s no way he can get through this without the help of alcohol. Ryan’s on the ice – he’s always on the ice it seems – not that Shea’s complaining. He’s still so good, Shea thinks. He’s so smart, the way he plays, keeping the puck away from their goalie, protecting the puck. He looks terrible in green - Shea knows he’s probably blinded by bitterness - prefers Ryan in bright, sunny colours. Shea wonders if Ryan kept any of his Predators’ things – the free t-shirts and the hats with the logos on them. Shea takes a drink to distract himself from the memory of Ryan, relaxed and content, sitting on Shea’s couch and softly petting his dogs, the 20 sitting nicely on his shoulder against the yellow fabric of his shirt.

Shea’s thinking about how messed up this is, him sitting here all alone and in pain, pining for someone who made it clear he wasn’t enough for them to stay, how maybe he should just turn off the TV and go to bed, when the commentator says, “Suter is looking tired and injured out there”.

Shea looks and he sees Ryan, his eyes finding him immediately, who does not look okay. His body language is tense and he’s favouring one foot, hunched over, trying not to put any pressure on his right foot. Shea leans forward with his heart in his throat. It’s not long before they blow the whistle, on the Star’s possession to the fury of the home crowd, as Ryan is helped off the ice, looking as fragile as glass when he limps away and out of view, to the locker room. Shea stands up and turns off the game, grabs his phone to start making some calls. It’s far too early to hear anything of substance, but he wants to know so badly what’s wrong - is Ryan ok and is it serious?

It’s the early hours of the morning in Montreal, Shea has an appointment with the team doctors tomorrow, but he can’t go to sleep, he’s too wound up. He’s holding his phone, whisky forgotten and not needed not with his mind filled with Ryan, when it lights up with an incoming text.

**I’m okay**

It’s nothing, tells Shea nothing and it’s probably not even true what with how much Ryan hates to admit weakness, but Ryan hasn’t contacted him all season – not since the pre-season with a cursory good luck text (no contact at all, no ‘sorry about your foot’ or ‘sorry about your team’ or even a ‘sorry I left’) – but Shea will take it, will memorise this text and hold it to his heart. Shea sends back:

**I was watching the game, call me if you need someone to talk to**

Shea feels like he should be embarrassed - they aren’t D-partners anymore haven’t been for a while - and he’s acting so desperate, practically begging Ryan to phone him. He must know how Shea was phoning all of his contacts to try and find out if he was okay. He doesn’t care, has never cared. Shea needs Ryan in his life, feels empty without him there to fill up all the space inside of him. Wants to fill up Ryan too, smooth the edges out until they’re one entity, like it used to feel like in Nashville. Ryan doesn’t reply, but Shea’s okay with that. Knows Ryan, or used to know him, knows he takes his time. Shea can give him that, even though he’s dying to hear Ryan’s voice, see his sweet smile. Shea’s patient or he can be, for things that are worth it – for Ryan.

**

Shea and Carey are sitting in the stands of the Bell Centre, watching the rest of the team practice as they chat about how things are going, carefully avoiding mentions of each other’s injuries. Carey had approached Shea after he’d gotten out of a meeting with the coaching staff – no good news, out for the rest of the season, maybe next year will be better – and they’re watching The Gally’s compete in a “friendly” shootout.

“So, Suter’s injury last week sure was something, huh?” Shea closes his eyes lets out a long-suffering sigh. He’s been waiting all week for someone to bring it up, knows he’s never been subtle about how he feels about Ryan, the way he acts around him – knows he wears the hurt and betrayal on his sleeve. It was only a matter of time before someone brought it up, and Carey being the one to ask isn’t all that surprising - he’s such a busybody.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not - it’s just like any other players injury, isn’t it?” Carey’s got a completely fake look of innocence on his face. “Why, we talked about Spurgeon’s injury and he plays for the Wild – how is this different?”

Shea resists the urge to grind his teeth, “Because there’s nothing to talk about.” And there isn’t, because it’s been complete radio silence from Ryan since that text. Shea may be a fool in love, but he’s not a blind fool, he can read the hidden message - if Ryan doesn’t want to talk that’s fine, Shea’s fine.

Carey shifts his body, angling towards Shea, apparently intent on continuing this topic of conversation. “The guy you played together for 7 seasons just got injured, Shea. You’re allowed to be upset okay?”

“I’m not upset,” Shea growls which okay, not very convincing. “I don’t care about Suter and his dumb injury.” Carey looks like he’s about to say more when, thankfully, Shea’s phone starts ringing. Eager for any excuse to end this conversation, now please, he pulls it out to see who is calling him.

_Ryan_

He answers the call immediately - feels his breath hitch, knows his “Hello,” is noticeably winded – doesn’t care.

“Webs? It’s uh – it’s Ryan.”

“Hey…” Shea can’t even hear his voice, can’t hear anything. The sounds of the team practicing and Carey’s soft inquiries are drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears and the crystal clear quality of Ryan’s voice.

“Listen, I- uhm I’m getting surgery on my ankle, I’m not going to be in for the rest of the season it looks like… Anyway, I’m getting the surgery down in Montreal and I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to meet up while I’m there?” Ryan’s voice is hesitant and soft, or maybe he’s just tired, Shea can’t tell. He could probably tell if he was looking at Ryan’s face, see if his eyes were soft and melting or if they were glassy and unfocused.

“Stay with me.”

“… What?” Ryan sounds shocked.

“Stay with me, while you’re here.”

“The doctors were worried about me traveling back down too soon after the surgery but… I don’t want to bother you, Shea. You’ve got a lot going on; I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s fine, I’ve got nothing going on. It can be the two of us, bitching about our broken feet.”

Ryan lets out a laugh and Shea’s heart stops for a second, “Okay, okay. I’ll stay with you while I’m in Montreal then… As long as you’re sure it won’t be any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” In fact, the only trouble Shea can think of is Ryan’s eventual departure. “It’ll be good to see you again.”

“Mmh, yeah it’ll be good.” Ryan sounds like he has a small smile on his face. “I’ll email the details of my trip to you – looking forward to seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Shea hangs up, turns to stare at Carey who’s got an eyebrow raised and a knowing look on his face.

“So, who was that?” Carey knows damn well who it was.

“None of your business, _Corey._ ” Shea walks past Carey, ignores his indignant protests, hobbles his way down the stands to exit the arena.

“Hope you know what you’re doing, Weber.” Carey calls at his back.

Shea doesn’t turn to look at him, just waves a hand in farewell. He’s got to get back and start preparing for Ryan to come home.

**

Shea’s sitting on his front porch, waiting for Ryan to show up. He arrived in Montreal three days ago, according to the text he’d sent, but he’d told Shea not to meet him at the airport – saying he’d arrive at Shea’s house after he was let out of the hospital. Shea had wanted to argue, wanted to be there for Ryan, but he still wasn’t sure where they stood with each other. Worried that if he pushed it Ryan might get angry and fly back to Minnesota. So here he is, sitting on the wooden swing out front with his leg elevated, eyes locked on the road Ryan would be coming from.

When a black car finally winds down the road, pulling up onto his driveway, Shea wants to leap up with joy. His stupid foot wouldn’t like that though, so he carefully pulls himself up onto his feet, putting pressure on the good one, and waits for Ryan to get out of the car.

He’s being helped up the porch steps by whoever was driving – one of the Wilds front office staff he presumes – and Shea walks over to meet them.

“Hey old timer, how’s the foot?” Shea says.

Ryan looks up at him, eyes glassy with what is probably whatever drugs they gave him. “Old timer? I’m one year older than you, jackass.” His words are slurred are slow.

Shea feels a grin breaking over his face – can’t stop it. It’s so good to see him, real and flesh.

“Let’s get you inside, huh? Get you off your feet.” Shea hopes his voice isn’t too soft as he grabs Ryan’s other arm to lead him inside to get him set up on the couch, lying on it with his right foot propped up on a soft pillow that Shea thinks Patches gave him when he joined the team.

Ryan eyes are drooping, face slack as he snuffles against the fabric of the Wilds hoodie he’s wearing. Shea looks at him for a while – tracing the lines of his face with his gaze - until the man who came with Ryan gets his attention and motions for them talk in the hallway.

“Thanks for doing this, Mr. Weber. We didn’t want him to come back to Minnesota so soon after the surgery and now is probably not a good time for him to be alone – especially with the playoffs coming up.”

“It’s not a problem, I’m happy to help.” Shea doesn’t dwell on the mention of playoffs, can’t bring himself to care that the Habs aren’t making it – not when Ryan’s here, breathing softly in the next room. “Is it okay that he’s sleeping?”

“Oh, yes. He needs to rest up as much as possible – best thing for him now,” Shea takes the bag the man offers him. “Here are his meds – he should take them twice a day before meals – and there’s some paperwork in there in case of any surprises. Please call this number if any medical emergencies or issues come up, and this number which is the Wilds front office.”

“Got it,” Shea shows the man out and then takes the medication to put it in the fridge.

Shea enters the living room again, stand behind the sofa and looks down at Ryan sleeping. He takes this time to look at Ryan, without anyone watching him do it, soaks in all the small differences and comforting familiar features of him. His lips - chapped and pink - his ears sticking out, the laugh lines around his eyes. Shea wonders how much he laughs now – more or less than when they knew each other. His heart says less but his head knows the truth. Knows from the interviews he’s seen (eagerly sought out) that Ryan is freer with his smiles since going to Minnesota or is it since leaving Nashville? Same thing, Shea supposes. Shea leaves the room, before he can do something stupid like shake Ryan awake and demand to know what’s so great about Minnesota, what’s so great about Parise?

**

Shea’s cooking dinner for the two of them – stir fry, an old favourite – and he’s trying his best to stay in the present. Ryan’s been here for a week now, and it’s so wonderful for them to spend time together. They eat together and sit together and Shea didn’t realise how lonely he was, how much he missed company, until Ryan settled himself back into his life. It’s confusing though, for Shea. It’s so much like Nashville, cooking for each other and talking about how this or that team is doing well in the standings. If Shea closes his eyes, listens to Ryan mutter at whatever he’s reading on his phone, he can pretend its 2010 again and they’ve just started to let each other into their lives, as more than partners on the ice.

Shea turns around and looks at Ryan, looks at the stubble on his face threatening to become a beard. Knows Ryan will shave it soon, how he likes to be clean shaven. Thinks of kissing him and feeling that stubble on his lips. Thinks of brushing back Ryan’s hair away from his forehead so that he can see his eyes more clearly.

Ryan looks up, “What’s wrong, Shea? Are you ill?” He looks worried and he starts to stand up to check on Shea.

Shea doesn’t know what kind of face he had on before, but he’s got a scowl now and he barks at Ryan, “Sit down; you’ll hurt your foot.” Ryan goes back to sitting – Shea’s captain voice must only work on him after long periods of absence. It never worked when they were on a team together.

Shea spins around, concentrates on cooking.

“You’re sure your fine?” Ryan’s voice is kind and Shea both loves and hates the warmth in it.

“I’m fine,” Shea says, and he must sound convincing because Ryan drops the subject.

But Shea, he can’t convinced himself because his mind is on a loop of, _don’t sit there all content when it was you who gave this up in the first place_. Shea probably shouldn’t encourage this kind of thinking - it’s not healthy. But Shea wants to hurt right now, so he soaks himself in it – the cold knowledge that he’s not enough for Ryan and never will be. Because if he doesn’t remind himself that this isn’t permanent, that this isn’t something that he can have, when Ryan does leave he’s likely to go insane with the loss.

**

Shea and Ryan are reading quietly (Ryan likes trashy airport thrillers and Shea is a firm believer in reading the Classics) when the doorbell starts ringing. Shea is content to ignore it but Ryan rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. Ryan really shouldn’t be getting up – his foot is still recovering – whereas Shea’s foot is only an annoyance now, well on the way back to full health, so he grumbles and firmly pushes Ryan back onto the couch before going to answer the door, with a feeling he’s going to regret this.

When he opens it to Carey Price’s smug little smirk, he knows 100% he regrets this. He tries to shut the door but Carey’s a quick fucker out of all the goalie pads and he slips inside easily.

“Get out of my house,” Shea says.

“Nice to see you too, Shea. Oh me? I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

“I’m phoning the police,” Shea isn’t kidding, and Price knows it.

“Shea,” the call comes from inside the house. “Who’s at the door?” Ryan comes limping down the hallway and, upon seeing who it is, gives a big smile. “Carey! It’s so nice to see you.”

“Ryan,” Carey comes forward and gives Ryan a big hug and Shea sighs, submits himself to this torture.

“What are you doing up, sit down you’re going to hurt yourself.” Shea knows he’s being a mother hen but Ryan really shouldn’t be moving around so much.

Shea receives an eye roll from Ryan but he does relocate into the kitchen after Carey also insists he rest.

The three of them sit at the kitchen table, drinking some coffee, Ryan and Carey catching up and Shea chiming in every now and then, but mostly content to listen to them talk.

“So, the Wilds made the playoffs huh? It’s a shame you won’t be able to play with them, what with your injury.” God, Price has no subtlety, Shea thinks wryly.

“Yeah, it’ll be tough to just sit on the side-lines but it won’t be so bad. I’ll get to watch from the press box and be with the boys so…” Ryan trails off and looks down at his coffee and Shea is staring at him, shoulders tense and face carefully blank. He hadn’t wanted to bring this up, wanted to avoid any talk of Ryan leaving again so soon. Totally regrets letting Price in, should have just kept on reading – could have distracted Ryan from the doorbell with some careful reminiscing of the good ol’ days.

“You’re going on the road with them? Oh… wow,” Carey tone of voice is shocked but Shea recognises how over the top it is, although Ryan must not.

Ryan looks up sharply, “What?”

“Well, it’s just, I thought you were going to stay here, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to bother Shea to the point where he’s sick of me,” Ryan has a little self-deprecating smile on. Shea forgot how much he fucking hates that smile, hated it Nashville when someone questioned Ryan’s ability, hates it now when he’s trying to politely back out of Shea’s life.

“I’m not sick of you, Ryan. I could never be,” Shea tries to put as much emotion into his voice as possible – a rarity for him. Ryan blinks, looks confused which is so wrong, Shea thinks. How could he question this?

“Then that’s settled then! You’ll stay here and cheer them on from Shea’s disgusting couch – seriously, please get a new one Webs.” Carey looks very smug but Shea can’t even be mad, not when he’s the reason Ryan is staying longer.

“Besides,” Carey continues nonchalantly. “It’s not like you can help them a whole lot right now, what with you being injured and useless.” Ryan flinches, and his heads down again, back to staring at his coffee.

Shea thinks that’s wrong, Carey’s wrong. The Wilds love Ryan, can’t stop gushing about him – about his plays but also about _Ryan Suter_ and how nice a guy he is, how they love having him on the team. Shea thinks he should probably say something – stick up for Ryan – tell Carey he’s an idiot, shut up, get out.

Shea remembers the day Ryan told him he was leaving – traded – for Minnesota, with Zach Parise, for Parise. They’d been in bed, the morning sun soft on Ryan’s face, his hair messy and Shea had wanted to reach over and touch him. Hadn’t, because Ryan was telling him he was leaving, happy to leave even. That had not been a good morning… so much yelling the dogs had hidden under the table, crying. Shea had broken some plates; Ryan hadn’t touched a thing the emotionless bastard.

Shea takes a sip of his coffee, averts his eyes, and swallows down the guilt as Carey continues to chatter - unaware or uncaring that he’s the only one still keeping the conversation going.

Shea at his best - on top of the world - hadn’t been enough to keep Ryan around. If being nice isn’t what keeps him around… well Shea can be cruel too, if that’s what it takes.

**

Its playoffs time and Shea hates it.

If your team is in the playoffs its great – stress aside, it’s the most fulfilling thing you can experience as a hockey player in Shea’s opinion. The constant go, go, go and that feeling of unity you feel when you look around the ice and see your own desires and drives reflected in your teammates eyes… Shea misses that.

If you’re not in the playoffs it’s just a punch to the gut, a slap in the face, a festering wound that won’t heal – a daily goddamn reminder that you weren’t good enough, that you let the team down.

So yeah, needless to say, this year the playoffs suck.

But Ryan wants to watch it – needs to watch it. He’s in Shea house, sleeping in his guest bedroom, eating his food and laughing at his jokes but Ryan… he wants to be nowhere more than in Minnesota with his band of merry men, laughing with Zach Parise instead. Shea just fucking knows it, hates it with a seething passion.

Fucking Minnesota Wilds.

Shea and Ryan are sitting on the sofa together with glasses of water – Shea finds he drinks a lot less alcohol when Ryan is here, doesn’t want the drink to fuzz up the memories of them together. They’re sitting in silence because Shea muted the idiotic talking heads who are shitting out of their mouths, as per usual, before the game starts. Ryan had shot him a thankful look – they’d been raving about how the Wilds had no chance against the Jets, especially with Suter out for the rest of the season (not that Shea disagreed with the opinion, but he’s not going to voice such a thing to Ryan).

When it starts Shea turns the volume back on and they watch the game. Or rather, Ryan watches the game and Shea watches Ryan as he gets more visibly frustrated and tense, his knuckles white from clenching in his lap and his mouth in a grimace, as the outcome of this matchup becomes increasingly apparent to everyone watching. Ryan never gets up, never looks away from the screen - not throughout the entire game. As soon as it cuts to the post-game discussion though, Ryan stands up and limps out of the room, his shoulders an angry, wounded line.

Shea sighs and turns off the TV, wonders if Ryan wants him to follow him or not – probably not but fuck it, Shea thinks. Gets up and finds Ryan sitting outside on the wooden patio steps. Shea settles down next to him, bumping their shoulders together. Ryan sighs and lays his head to rest on Shea’s shoulder, trusting him to take his weight and Shea has to remind himself not to look to pleased, at Ryan settling into him so easily, that now is not the time to look happy.

“I’m so tired, Webs.”

“It’s okay, Ryan. They can bring it around – trust in your team.” _Ugh,_ that leaves a bad taste in Shea’s mouth, but Ryan looks so destroyed, sitting here with his arms limp at his side and his eyes downcast and sad.

“I do trust them – completely – it’s not that… I just – I should be there, Webs.” Ryan’s got his eyes closed tightly, “I need… I need…”

“What- what do you need, Ryan? Tell me, let me help you.”

Ryan opens his eyes and looks up at Shea, looks like he’s going to say something for a moment before he looks away and closes his mouth with a frown. Shea wishes so badly that Ryan would trust in him - confide in him - but Shea knows far too well that’ll never happen.

“Can we…” Ryan’s voice is hesitant. “I don’t want to go to bed yet, can we watch a movie?”

Shea stands up, looks down at Ryan who’s still sitting down and looking up at him with a pleading expression. Thinks of saying, _no - why should I help you_. Thinks of saying, _Come to bed with me, I’ll make it alright_. Instead he settles for somewhere in between and suggests, “The Lion King?”

Ryan has a big smile on his face, entire worlds away with the man who looked pained watching his team stumble. Shea thinks about how he was never going to say no, never, and wonders if Ryan knows the power he holds over Shea. Has always held over Shea.

“The Lion King sounds good,” Ryan gets up unsteadily with Shea’s help and they make their way back inside, humming The Circle of Life out of tune.

**

Shea’s flutters his eyes open, unsure of what woke him. He checks his alarm and sees its 2 am, lets out a tired groan as he turns on the bedside lamp.

“Fuck,” Shea runs a hand through his hair, sits up and blinks the sleep out of his eyes.

“Shea?” His head snaps up and he sees Ryan standing there, in a shirt and boxers, at the entrance to his room, hesitant to cross the threshold.

“Ryan? What’re you doing up?” Shea chuckles, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry I woke you… I couldn’t sleep.” Ryan looks down at his foot, “It hurts.”

Shea approaches Ryan and pulls him inside and they sit on the bed together. “Do you want me to get you some pain killers?”

“No,” Ryan shakes his head. “It’s not that bad yet, just annoying – giving me weird dreams, I think.”

 Shea looks at Ryan, who’s got a pensive look on his face, “A dream?”

“A nightmare,” Ryan corrects, eyes staring at his hands lying in his lap - won’t look at Shea.

“What was it about?”

“You… You left me.”

Shea blinks, “What.”

“You left me and I was all alone.”

Shea grits his teeth, “That’s a pretty weird fucking dream, considering you were the one who left me.”

Ryan doesn’t even flinch, which makes Shea boil. “You’re right, I did leave.”

“So what the fuck are you even talking about,” Shea’s voice is getting louder.

“Why did you invite me to stay with you?”

“Why do you fucking think, Ryan.”

“I don’t _know_ , Shea. That’s why I’m asking,” Ryan looks up and glares at Shea and Shea… he’s had enough.

Shea fists the back of Ryan’s head, painfully tugging on his hair, and smashes their faces together, their teeth clacking together. Ryan’s hands come up and fist Shea’s shirt, pulling on it hard enough to stretch it, as he opens his mouth wider for Shea’s tongue. It’s wet and sloppy and Shea has missed this so, so much.

They pull away, by only an inch, so they’re still panting into each other’s mouths, their eyes locked.

“You want to know why I invited you to stay? Because of that, asshole.” Shea unclenches his hand in Ryan’s hair, pets his curly locks.

Ryan laughs shakily, “I see.”

“You seriously didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

Shea bites Ryan’s bottom lip, tugs sharply. “That I’m still absolutely crazy for you, Sutes.” Ryan lets out a haggard breath.

Shea pulls him down on the bed, “Now let’s see if you’ll sleep like a baby after I blow you.”

“Oh, Shea.” Shea grins, filthy, glad he got to hear Ryan breathless one more time. Another thing he missed.

Shea hovers over Ryan, soaks him in, looks at his flushed cheeks and his bright eyes. He looks young like this, reminds him of their first time together. A casual hook up at Worlds, Ryan on his hands and knees in a foreign hotel room with Shea’s hand clamped tight over his mouth to keep him quiet. Over so fast because they didn’t know when Ryan’s roommate would be back. Hadn’t had time to explore each other’s bodies – barely had time to kiss – before Shea was leaving with a small, private smile on his face and a promise to meet up in the following season.

Shea sits on his heels and drags Ryan’s boxers off, slowly, revealing Ryan’s hard dick, already weeping. “God, you’re so beautiful, Ryan. So, so gorgeous.”

Ryan smiles, reaches up with his hand and cups Shea’s face. “Not as beautiful as you, Shea.” It’s corny, so high-school, but Ryan says it so matter-of-factly that Shea sighs and nuzzles into his hand, kisses the palm. Wants Ryan to compliment him more, wants to ask to record it so he never forgets how sweet Ryan is in these quiet moments, with just the two of them.

Shea takes Ryan in hand, a familiar yet forgotten weight in his hand, gives him a few rough strokes, and Ryan gasps at the sensation. He nuzzles at Ryan’s inner thighs, his stubble scraping the skin and causing Ryan to squirm in pleasure at the sensation. Shea wants to rub his skin raw, give him thousands of tiny scratches that’ll never heal. Shea wants him to move strangely tomorrow, walking carefully so that his thighs don't rub.

Shea wraps his lips around the head of Ryan’s cock and he yells at the sensation of hot and wet surrounding his dick. Ryan is babbling sweet phrases and nonsense as Shea goes to town on his dick and Shea pulls off and smirks down at Ryan, pleased to see his eyes are hazy and his face is red. Shea wants to ask, wants to know, if it’s been a while for him. It certainly seems it, what with the way Ryan yells when Shea swallows him down again, but Shea can’t ask – too scared to hear the answer.

“Shea… Shea!” Ryan grabs Shea’s shoulders, knows Shea hates to have his head touched while he does this - likes to be in control of the pace. When his hips start to buck Shea presses his free arm firmly across his hips.

“Shea… Please, do that again,” Ryan begs, voice strained. Shea hums and swallows around him, his throat working around his dick in order to hear Ryan make that lovely noise again.

“Shea, I’m coming - Shea – I’m going to-” Ryan’s fingers dig into Shea’s shoulders painfully as he doubles down, his nose pressing into the hair above Ryan’s dick. Ryan gasps; sounds wounded. He comes down Shea’s throat in bursts, and Shea swallows it down happily – loves the idea of having a part of Ryan inside him, the thought of it thrills him.

Shea pulls off, breathing hard and shifts up the bed so he’s straddling Ryan’s torso, starts to jack off to the wonderful sight that is Ryan’s glazed and content face.

“Come on my-,” Ryan grips Shea’s thigh. “Come on my face, Webs.”

Shea is a goner after such a sweet request from Ryan, and he sits up on his knees, angles his dick towards Ryan who has his eyes shut and his mouth open, and comes with a groan in stripes all over Ryan’s face and neck.

Shea wants to kiss Ryan, regardless (or because of) the gorgeous mess on his face, so he does. Ryan wrinkles his nose and pushes Shea away, laughing.

“I’ve covered in come, Shea.”

“Yeah, I know. I put it there,” Shea goes in for another kiss but Ryan pushes him off firmly and gets up to clean his face. Shea slumps back down on the bed, boneless after such a satisfying orgasm and waits for Sutes.

Ryan comes back and climbs into Shea’s bed, has some come in his hair where he missed it but Shea’s doesn’t see the need to let him know. Once the lamp is back off Shea grabs Ryan and pulls him closer, presses Ryan’s head onto his chest so his every breath disturbs the hair there. Ryan sighs, and settles in more comfortably, mutters a quiet ‘Good night’ to a pleased Shea who squeezes Ryan and gives him a sloppy kiss to his head.

**

Shea likes to think it had been easy in Nashville, for the two of them. Playing together, living together and breathing as one. It was success and happiness and only the best of times for them as they maneuverer the NHL together and blissful domesticity.

Shea knows he’s very selective with his memory.

It was good – golden years spent under the sun in each other’s arms – with only the rare relationship hiccup that usually ended in make-up sex.

That is, you could view their relationship that way if you ignored the nights they played the New Jersey Devils.

It was like clockwork on those game days – the feeling of _everything’s fine, its good, no I’m not tense Ryan_ shifting into a messy, hard game of Shea bashing every red jersey into the boards and racking up the minutes in the box. That would always lead to Shea receiving a frosty glare as Ryan left the arena with an amused but (satisfyingly) banged up and bloody Parise. Always, always ending with Ryan coming back the next morning with a hard look in his eye as the two of them fought – Ryan angry because _what’s wrong with you Shea? What was that behaviour last night?_ And Shea angry because _who the fuck is Parise to you that you’re pissed I’m doing my job? What did you two do last night, huh? Are you fucking him, Ryan?_

All of these questions would be left unanswered, lost in the hard, sharp friction of their bodies colliding. Desperate hands bruising skin as they held each other, biting and fucking their way through their problems.

So yeah, if you’re selective (like Shea is) their relationship was all sunshine and roses.

**

Shea had his right arm curled around Ryan’s shoulders, keeping him anchored against his side, his fingers making absent patterns on Ryan’s skin under his soft night shirt. Shea can’t sleep, the throbbing of his foot was relentless, but he didn’t mind so much when it meant he could lie here and watch Ryan sleep. His face is relaxed and his features are open, soft. The nights alone since his injury had been torture, seemed to never end and sleep always reluctant to come to Shea, but now that Ryan is here, by his side, well he didn’t mind the injury so much anymore. He didn’t _want_ to be injured, but if he had to be it was nice that Ryan was here with him. It made him feel cruel – in the light of the day – but here, in the dark with Ryan breathing in and out and firmly within reach, he was glad Ryan had gotten injured too.

“You’re happy,” Shea hoped he didn’t show his surprise too much when he looked down at Ryan to see him awake, eyes slitted open and apparently not asleep like Shea had thought.

“What?” Unless Ryan could suddenly read his mind – and it had felt like it sometimes, especially during their time in Nashville – Shea had no idea what Ryan was talking about.

“You’re happy about Zach’s injury.” Shea winced at Ryan’s flat tone.

“I’m not happy, Ryan.”

“You are,” Ryan’s fingers dug into Shea’s sides painfully. “You’ve always hated Zach, don’t try to deny it.”

“Just because I’m not… fond of Parise doesn’t mean I’m gleefully happy he got hurt, Ryan. What kind of monster do you take me for?”

Ryan was glaring at Shea in the dark, fingers still lodged in his sides, and for a second Shea wondered if they were about to get into an argument before Ryan’s eyelashes fluttered and his grip loosened. Ryan shifted closer to Shea, mindful of both of their injuries, resting his head on Shea’s shoulder so that Shea could rest their heads together, both of them wanting to be close to each other. Ryan’s arms wound around Shea’s waist and Shea in turn moved his arm around Ryan, his hand moving up and down his back in soothing strokes.

“’m sorry Shea,” Ryan’s mouth was pressed against Shea’s neck, the words getting lost there. “I just… I should be there, for the team. It was okay with Zach there,” Shea allowed himself to make a face at Parise’s name now that Ryan couldn’t see it. “I knew he would take care of things… But now he’s injured too and I… I’m sorry I yelled at you, I didn’t mean it. I know you wouldn’t wish harm on anyone.”

Shea would have normally have relished Ryan saying so much, trusting him with his thoughts and feelings, if it wasn’t for the sting that came with it - knowing he was only saying it to Shea because the person he really wanted to say it to –Parise - wasn’t here.

“It’s going to be okay, Ryan.” Shea pressed a dozen kisses to the crown of Ryan’s head, “Tell me what to do to make it okay.”

Ryan shook his head, “Just – Just being here is enough Shea, thank you.”

Shea rested his head against Ryan’s, kept up the motions of his hand and hummed – deep in his chest to help soothe Ryan– until he fell asleep. Shea sighed softly, felt an ugly thing curl up in his belly, because he had been glad when Parise had hit the ice. Had wanted to cheer and shout and press a thousand kisses on Ryan’s lips at the sight of Parise leaving the ice in a hurry. Had looked over at Ryan, seen his pale and ashen face and felt the start of what could have become guilt, when Ryan had rushed out of the room, phone in hand, to call Parise and any guilt had died out, strangled in its inception. Shea was a kind man, once, wasn’t personal in his hits and felt some remorse when his shots hit bone and shattered dreams. Shea still feels those things - the guilt and the remorse and the ability to keep it professional – most of the time.

Loving Ryan has changed him so much. He can’t breathe for the distance between them, can’t think when they’re so far apart. It had been so bad when he was at Nashville and Ryan had left him for the Wilds, barely manageable because back then he had people, family, his team around to keep him above the water when he was drowning in so much absence. In Montreal it’s so different, there’s still a team but it’s not _his team_ , not yet. Carey is a god send, with his dry wit and sardonic smile – someone who helps distract Shea – but he has his own problems he and can’t be there for Shea at all hours of the day. Because that’s what it is, loving Ryan. A 24/7 constant cycle of _I love him, I love him, I love him_ that is overlapping with _he left me, he left me, he left me_.

Shea wouldn’t ever give it up though. It’s all consuming, fills up his lungs and controls him. Shakes him to his very core and challenges him. But it’s worth it – so, so worth it. To suffer and struggle all these months – years – without Ryan is nothing compared to the sweet, merciful relief that is being here and now with Ryan in his arms, his breath hot on his skin.

Shea smiles, and carefully shifts so as to bring Ryan in tighter and closer, thinks of Parise miles and miles from here with a pain in his back and tears in his eyes and hopes he knows that Ryan is here with Shea, sweetly asleep in his arms.

**

Ryan is at the hospital for a check-up and Shea is sulking around the house. Shea had wanted to go with him, hold his hand and ask questions and brush Ryan’s hair away from his brow, but Ryan had said it was just a cursory thing, that he could get an Uber there and back, that Shea wasn’t needed. Even though they’re sleeping together again nothing has changed, Ryan still won’t let him be a part of his life, and Shea wants to be there - for the big and the little things. Wants to shop with him, hold his hand, take him on dates, talk about kids, and discuss retirement plans. Shea wants it all.

Shea is wandering from room to room, feeling like a stranger in his own fucking home because he’s already so used to Ryan being here and now he hates the silence - fuck he’s weak - when he trips and catches himself awkwardly on the wall, just barely avoiding fucking up his foot again.

“Jesus Christ,” Shea looks down and sees that what he tripped on was some carpet that has come loose from the floorboards. “I should really fix that…” If Ryan tripped on that, he might mess up his foot again.

Shea looks at the flap of carpet, at how unnoticeable and unassuming it is, yet all the pain it’s capable of causing. It would be a quick fix, Shea could go grab his tools and have it done before Ryan gets back.

Shea toes the carpet down so it’s lying flat against the floor and walks away from it to do some reading until Ryan gets home and they can have dinner together.

**

Shea’s swearing as he unlocks his car and gets in before slamming the door shut and starting the car as fast as he can. Its Game 5 of MIN-WPG tonight and Shea had wanted to be there with Ryan while he watched, had a bad feeling of how it was going to go down, but a dinner with the Canadiens higher ups and sponsors had run over. Shea presses down on the gas and turns on the radio which happens to be tuned into the local station which - as it is Montreal - is talking about the results of the game.

“…and tonight the Minnesota Wilds were eliminated from the 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs by the Winnipeg Jets, to no one’s surprise…” Shea swears and jabs at the radio until it turns off.

“Fuck…”

Shea breaks some traffic laws to get home as soon as possible and when he gets there all the lights are turned off and everything is silent. Shea makes his way up the stairs, doesn’t bother checking in the guest room, and goes straight for his own bedroom. He eases the door open and sees a still form curled under the sheets. Shea starts to take off his clothes, unbuttons his shirt and takes off his tie, and then he carefully peels back the sheets and climbs into bed, curling around Ryan. Ryan’s eyes are open and he’s holding his knees.

“Hey,” Shea’s voice is soft as he turns Ryan over onto his back and reaches over to touch Ryan’s face to feel his cheeks which are damp with recent tears. “I heard about the game…”

Ryan grasps Shea by the back of his neck and pulls his down to kiss him, bitter tasting. Shea kisses back eagerly, remembers this part vividly from when they played together at Nashville. Every loss softened by the nights spent comforting each other. Shea breaks away and presses kisses to Ryan’s lips, nose, and forehead before making his way back down to his lips again.

 “Shea… fuck me, please? I need you,” Shea nods, presses more kisses to Ryan’s cheeks and tastes the salt of his tears, and grabs the lube and a condom from the bedside drawer.

“Lift up,” Shea says as he pulls down Ryan’s sleep shorts, taking a moment to caress Ryan’s ass and thighs before throwing the shorts onto the floor. He then pulls off Ryan’s shirt, pressing his palm to his heart to feel the strong beat, wants to reach into Ryan’s chest and shield the delicate organ from harm. Shea settles himself between Ryan’s legs and pours some lube on his fingers before pressing one of them to Ryan’s hole, pumping the digit in and out. Shea enjoys the hitch in Ryan’s breath at the temperature before adding another finger, scissoring them inside of him as Ryan curls his toes at the stretch. “You like that?”

“More, Webs.”

Shea adds a third finger and starts to thrust them in, old muscle memory helping him to find that sweet spot inside of Ryan that makes him gasp and wrap his legs around Shea’s waist tight as Shea grinds down on his prostate with his fingers.

“Mmh! Shea,” Ryan’s dick is steadily leaking against his belly and Shea is mesmerised, forgot how desperate Ryan gets for it, how hungry. “Get inside me, now.”

Shea pumps his fingers a few more times before slipping them out, puts on a condom and slicks himself up with a generous amount of lube, before pressing the tip of his dick to Ryan’s hole, teasing him with the pressure as he rubs the head against his rim.

“Shea,” Ryan’s fingers are scratching down his back. “Please, I want it – stop teasing.”

“I could never say no to you, Ryan.” Shea leans down and kisses behind Ryan’s ear before pressing inside of him, the two of them gasping in unison and the feeling of being so full of each other after so long.

Shea grabs Ryan by the hips and starts to thrust in and out of him, hitting his prostate on every other thrust to Ryan’s gasping delight. Shea rests his head next to Ryan’s head and groans into ear, the tight hot feeling of Ryan gripping him almost too much for him to handle. Shea fists a hand in Ryan’s hair and _pulls_ , causing Ryan to clench around his dick hard and hot and so tight as he whimpers at the pain, neck arched beautifully.

“Harder, Shea.” Ryan is insatiable and he starts to rock his hips to better get that friction, his cock slapping against his belly loudly and Shea has never been more in love.

“God, Sutes…” Shea thrusts harder, one hand at Ryan’s hip and the other holding him behind the knee so he can spread his legs wide.  Pulls back and sit up, looking down at where they’re joined, all sloppy and wet and Shea can’t tear his eyes away from the filthy red of Ryan’s hole sucking down his dick. “You’re so hot, Ryan. God, I’ve missed this so much - missed you so much… Fuck, Ry.”

Ryan fists his own cock, the sounds so dirty to Shea’s ears; Ryan’s hips are thrusting up into his grip and then he slams his hips back down onto Shea’s cock, desperate. “I missed you too, Webs. Haven’t – Haven’t been fucked so good since our last time… Ah, fuck, harder please. Make me forget, Shea.”

Hearing Ryan say that he’s missed this, missed them - that only Shea can fuck him this good - that drives Shea crazy and his thrusts start to become erratic, nearing his orgasm. “Fuck… Ryan,” Shea’s voice cracks as he comes inside Ryan, in the condom, and he collapses on top of him heavily, mouth open and breathing hard.

Ryan’s still pumping his fist over his cock, faster and faster, and Shea gets himself up on one elbow to give him a helping hand. It’s not long before Ryan’s coming; his spend splashing on both of their bellies. Shea gives a fucked out Ryan a kiss, lazy and sweet and Ryan’s too come dumb to do much more than open his mouth wider for Shea and groan incoherently.

Shea eventually slips out of Ryan who groans at the feeling and he gets up to throw away the condom and grab a towel to wipe them both down with. Once they’re back in bed, Shea spooning Ryan with a leg laying possessively his hip, Shea says, “I’m sorry about your team.”

Ryan grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly. “Its fine,” Ryan says even though it’s not. “Winnipeg was the better team and we’ll just have to do better next year.” Shea presses a kiss to the back of his neck, at his hairline, tastes the drying sweat there and holds him tighter.

**

The next morning Shea wakes up, stretches with a smile and turns to look at Ryan beside him but comes up short when he notices the bed is empty. Frowning, Shea gets up and he leaves his bedroom to look for Ryan downstairs where he’s probably having a morning coffee when he notices the guest bedroom’s door is ajar. It was closed last night, Shea was sure of it.

Shea looks in and his heart stops when he sees Ryan, with a suitcase, packing away all of his things, a crease between his brows.

“What are you doing.” Shea’s voice is flat.

Ryan’s head snaps up, “Shea!”

“What are you doing?” Shea asks again as he steps into the room.

“I’m packing, Shea.” Ryan looks hesitant Shea thinks, “I’m going home now.”

“What… When? No, wait why?” Shea’s confused, thought everything was fine. They’d made love last night - why would Ryan be leaving?

“I’m catching a plane back to Minnesota tomorrow, but I’m going to stay at a hotel tonight,” Ryan licks his lips. “I think it’s for the best, Shea.”

“No! You can’t.” Shea takes a step forward and grasps Ryan’s wrist tightly, to stop him - from packing, from leaving, from doing this again - Shea wishes Ryan would just stop. “You can’t leave.”

“Shea, let go of me.” Ryan has that hesitant look again… no wait, is it fear? That can’t be right, none of this is making any sense to Shea.

“Don’t leave me Ryan, I can’t live without you.” Shea says, pleading with him.

“We can’t do this again, Shea. We can’t,” Ryan swallows. “Minnesota is my home; everyone who I love is there,” Shea flinches at that. “I can’t stay here, Shea. It’s been cruel of me to lead you on, when I had no intention of staying here, and you have no intention of going to Minnesota. We’re not meant to be together, Shea. Your life is here and mine is in Minnesota.”

Shea is so lost, “I- I see.” He says instead of saying what he’s really thinking which is, _why do we have to be apart_. Shea drops Ryan’s arm, turns on his heel and strides out of the room. Ryan doesn’t stop him as he exits the house and Shea leaves Ryan to pack himself neatly away, leaves Ryan so he can quietly exit his life just like he did all those years ago.

Shea hates how his life seems to be on a loop, forever subjected to having the worst things that have ever happened to him happen again and again and again.

**

It’s raining when Shea gets back to the house later that night and his clothes are soaked and his hair is plastered to his head. He’s making his way towards the stairs when he looks down at the floor and something catches his eye. The piece of carpet he tripped over is turned up again, an ugly eye sore, and he walks past it to make his way upstairs. He pauses at the guest bedroom when he hears movement inside. He cracks the door and he sees Ryan turning over in bed, restless. He stayed, Shea thinks with relief, he’s not gone. Yet. Shea closes the door again quietly and makes his way to his bathroom.

As he strips down and gets in the shower to warm up his cold skin Shea thinks of these past months, with Ryan in his home and in his arms. He loved it, far too much, and he’s reluctant to give it up. Wants to hold on tight, fuck whoever said you should let go of the things you love. As he washes his hair Shea tries to think of a way – any way – to keep Ryan. Shea sighs, turns off the shower and makes his way to bed. He sets his alarm early – wants a head start tomorrow - and, as he drifts to sleep, he hopes he has a better idea in the morning.

**

The next morning, Ryan makes his way downstairs and finds Shea kneeling on the floor with a box of tools by his side.

“Hey,” Ryan says, hesitant.

Shea stops what he’s doing to look up at Ryan and smile slightly strained, “Morning, Ryan. I’m nearly done here – go grab some breakfast and we can talk once I’m done.”

Ryan nods, confused, and makes his way to the kitchen to start the coffee. Ryan’s known Shea for a long time and he’s never know Shea to be the type who wants to talk things out. In the past Shea always forged a path through the rough patches by brute force alone, leaving a burning trail in his wake. Him wanting to talk is a surprise, Ryan thinks, but a good one.

Shea eventually joins him and sits himself down at the kitchen island next to Ryan, grabbing his hand as he angles his body to face him.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking, Sutes.” Ryan nods, unsure where this is going, “What you said yesterday, I was listening to you and I want you to know I heard what you were saying.”

“Shea, I-” Ryan starts but he’s cut off.

“I love you, Ryan. I’ve loved you for so long and for so hard. I can’t imagine a version of me who doesn’t love you.” Shea looks down at their hands, “I know we’re not the best for each other. I can be bad at communicating and possessive and jealous… and you’re so distant I sometimes wonder if you even love him, but I care about you so much, Ryan.” Shea looks up and his eyes are sad, “I don’t want you out of my life, Ryan. If you feel the same…”

“I do feel the same and I do love you, Shea” Ryan says and squeezes Shea’s hand hard. Shea smiles, that charming boyish grin that Ryan sees in his dreams. Ryan continues, “But I just don’t see how we can make it work.”

“I’m willing to try, Ryan. That’s all I ask of you – for you to try.” Shea continues, “Long distance isn’t the relationship killer it used to be – technology is amazing, we can video chat and write emails – hell we could do letters if that catches your fancy.”

“Don’t even bother Shea, we both know you’re the hopeless romantic.” Ryan teases with a grin.

“Okay, you’re right, I’d be writing the letters,” they share a smile and a fond look. “So, how about it, Sutes? Can we try this again?”

Ryan bites his lip, plays with Shea’s hand in his own, twines their fingers together.

“Yeah,” he leans in. “Let’s give it another go,” Ryan closes the gap and presses a sweet kiss to Shea’s lips, mouth curving into a happy smile. He can feel Shea’s answering smile, giddy and excited, and they laugh as they kiss some more.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an alternative ending that continues on from Ryan waking up the morning after the fight. Gets kinda dark?? Not too dark?? I'm a bad judge sorry

Ryan woke up to an eerily quiet house and assumed that Shea must have never come home last night. He sighs as he gets up and grabs his suitcase, disappointed that they wouldn’t have a chance to talk before he leaves for Minnesota. He remembers talking to Zach last night and he had tried to persuade Ryan to leave last night - that he should stay in a hotel -but Ryan hadn’t wanted to leave Shea on such bad terms. Things might not be great right now between them, but at one point they had been the love of each other’s lives, had been contemplating getting quietly married before Ryan had gotten the offer to leave for Minnesota. Ryan still wondered, sometimes, what life would have been like if he hadn’t left, if they would have lifted the Cup together or if they’d have broken up eventually anyway, destined to be bitter old men. It was pointless to think like that, Ryan scolded himself, he had left and he didn’t regret it – Minnesota was his home and he loved the team like family. You can’t have everything, Ryan tells himself. _Why not?_ A voice asks and it sounds like Shea. Ryan shakes his head.

Ryan dragged his suitcase down the stairs and was making his way down the hallway when the suitcase’s wheels caught on something. Ryan stopped, tugged hard at the suitcase but when it didn’t budge he turned around to pull it with both hands, hard, and it came free unexpectedly. Ryan stumbled backwards before tripping over the carpet and he fell on his back with a loud thump, his head hitting the wall with a nasty crack on the way down, with his suitcase awkwardly landing on his bad foot causing him to scream at the pain, before his head started to throb so hard he blacked out.

**

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Ryan came back into consciousness to the sounds of a heart monitor and the pressure of a weight resting against his left hip. He opened his eyes, having to blink for quite a while before he could see again, and Ryan recognised the room he was in as one of the hospital rooms of the Montreal General Hospital – a place he’d been to before because of his foot, but he had a feeling he was here now for something much different. Looking to his left Ryan saw Shea’s head resting on top of his hip – that must have been the weight he felt – his face smooth and innocent looking in sleep. Ryan’s head was pounding and so was his right foot and when he looked to the right he saw his entire leg was in a cast and elevated off the bed. Ryan squeezed his hand, involuntarily, as he started to panic. Shea must have been holding his hand because he woke up, lifting his head and looking at Ryan with wide eyes before a relieved smile broke across his face and tears started to fill his eyes.

“Ryan! You’re awake – oh thank God,” Shea moved over to sit next to Ryan on the bed. “I was so worried…”

“Chk-” Ryan tried to speak, ask Shea what was going – what had happened, why was he still here, where was Zach – but all that came out was a choked off sound.

“Shh, shh Ryan, don’t speak. You’ve got a tube in your mouth, to help you breath while you slept.” Shea stroked his face, brushing the hair off his face, before his hand drifted down to his neck and pressed lightly on his throat where the tube must be, the sensation of his fingers made Ryan want to squirm away.

Ryan tried his best not to panic but he had a _tube_ down his throat and he couldn’t speak and he didn’t know what was happening.

“Calm down, Ryan. You’re okay now…” Shea reached over him and pressed a button. “The nurse will be here soon.”

Ryan closed his hand around Shea’s as hard as he could, but he was so weak it barely registered to Shea.

“I’m so sorry, Ryan. It was my entire fault; I shouldn’t have left you on your own. You tripped over a loose piece of carpet and you hurt yourself… badly,” tears fell down Shea’s cheeks. “It’s my fault, I didn’t fix the floor… and I wasn’t there to help you.”

Shea shuddered, “When I came home and found you lying there, with a bleeding head wound I was so, so worried…” Shea cupped Ryan’s face in his hands, “But don’t worry Ryan, I’ll make it up to you – I promise. I’ll take such good care of you, Ryan.” Shea leaned forward and kissed Ryan’s forehead softly, “You’re going to be so happy here, with me, I promise you.”

“Gmh!” Ryan tried to protest, to yell, to beg please no Shea, but it was futile.

“I know you think you like Minnesota but I think, and the Doctor agrees with me, that it’s for the best you stay here.” Ryan’s eyes widened, wondered what Shea had done to get the ear of the medical staff. “Don’t worry – Montreal is hard to adjust to at first but soon you’ll love it here. I’ll be there to help you adjust. It’ll be home to you too, I’ll make sure of it, I promise.” Shea’s eyes were gazing so deeply into Ryan’s that he wanted to look away but he couldn’t, what with Shea’s hands trapping him there, immobilizing him.

As the nurse entered the room Ryan began to cry, quietly and with a sense of doom, and he wished he had listened to Zach when he had told him, all those years ago, that Shea Weber was bad news.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @ nelliphant dawg


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